Say Thanks With A Fist
by ToxicSniper210
Summary: Carol's admiring a beautiful night, nights that have become uncommon since the world ended. Stumbling upon her, thinking she was a Walker, the abused wife ends up having a light-hearted conversation with resident redneck, Daryl Dixon.
1. Say Thanks With A Fist

**So, it's been a LONG time since I've posted anything on . Recently, I've become obsessed with the Walking Dead, and became infatuated with a certain hunter with a crossbow... Thus, I decided to write something about Daryl having a conversation with someone he probably doesn't associate with often. My thoughts on what Daryl and Carol would talk about. Kind of inspired by the sneak peek clip for Season 2, Episode 3. Haven't seen it, then go check it out.**

**Review please!**

**Disclaimer: The Walking Dead is owned by Robert Kirkman.**

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><p><strong>Say Thanks With A Fist<strong>

…**\~/…**

"_I do._"

Ever since those two little, miniscule words left her mouth, she regretted it. Even that night, his large, boulder-like fist collided to the corner of her mouth, the thick, crimson liquid leaking from the cuts. That day, when those two little words came from her mouth, he had put up a show for her aging parents, given them a smile that she hadn't seen again since that day. It's been years since she'd seen that bright, beautiful smile on her husband's face. It was true, believe it or not, he did have a beautiful smile.

Carol Peletier walked along the rocky shore of the quarry, the dark waters as still as glass, the moon's reflection quite clear. It was a relatively peaceful night, considering that the world had ended and the dead walked among them. Beauty was scarce these days too; the moon had always seemed to disappear behind depressing clouds every night, making every survivor feel more hopeless. Every day now was a cherished moment to Carol, telling her that even though her life was in danger, she had fought through it, living another day. She aimed to get through this, hoping that the dead would drop dead for good, and civilization would begin to restore itself to its original state.

Carol wanted Sophia to graduate from college with a degree in something wonderful. She wanted her little girl to see the real world, bask in it, and enjoy life. The mother wanted her little child to find a nice man to marry and feel the happiness that having a first child brought you. There were so many things that Sophia needed to learn, needed to see, needed to breathe in.

Oh no, Sophia… Carol began to panic, hitting her head for being selfish, and leaving her little girl with that monster. She wanted so badly to get away from everything that she completely forgot the well-being of her little one. The guilt she would feel if Ed laid a finger on that child. Carol started to walk hurriedly back up the shore, but something stopped her. A figure making its way towards her, kind of limping, right foot looking like it was giving it problems.

Her heart started to pound against her chest, feeling like it was going to burst out of the ribcage. Carol's initial reaction was to run, thinking it was a Walker. That's what she needed: a Walker slaughtering her on such a gorgeous night, turning her into one of them. Please, no, leave her alone; she still had so many things to see, still had so many things to teach Sophia.

Carol took a few steps back, but her feet got tangled together, causing her to fall backwards. The figure was getting closer and closer and she was scrambled backwards now, the rocks on the shore bedding themselves into her palms. That's when the moon peeked around the clouds, shining its beams down on the figure. Unkempt sandy blonde hair, tall, muscular frame, a bit of a rugged look to him…

Daryl Dixon…

Carol remembered him, one of the two Dixon men that found their camp about a week before. Speeding around the curves of the dusty dirt road that led to their campsite in a busted, old pick-up truck, they had made quite a ruckus getting to their site. Or at least Merle did, the other Dixon brother. Merle was the loud-mouth of the two while Daryl kept to himself most of the time. But that didn't mean Daryl didn't have his moments. He'd shot off his mouth a couple times too, almost getting into a few fistfights with Shane Walsh, ex-sheriff. Overall, both Dixons were two racist rednecks with short tempers, even if the older showed it more than the younger. Carol always thought they were bad influences on the children, especially Merle, so she wasn't particularly fond of the boys.

The camp had to be grateful towards the Dixon brothers though. The two knew how to survive, going off for days to hunt down something they could eat that could last them a couple of weeks. Though the camp looked up to Daryl to do most of the work since Merle was as high as kite most of the time. Thank God there was at least one level-headed brother…

Carol stopped struggling to get away, straightening her posture, shifting her body towards the water, making it look like she had been like that the whole time. Her eyes rolled to the side, watching as Daryl began to slow down in his walk, raising something to about the height of his waist. It was his crossbow, cocked, and ready to shoot. He must've thought that she was a Walker. As he crept closer, Daryl began to lower his weapon, face twisted. Carol had far since turned her head in his direction, eyes wide with fear that he would shoot.

"What the hell ya doin' out here, 'specially with no one with ya?" Daryl spat, gravelly voice low. He didn't swing his crossbow over his shoulder, but eased it to his side, ready to spring it up in case a Walker came around them.

"Enjoying the scenery…" she said meekly. His stance and way of talking was similar to husband's. Sort of startled her, but she wasn't about to break eye contact with this man.

"Yeh'd risk havin' a Walker rip ya throat out jus' so ya can enjoy the scenery? Pretty damn stupid if ya ask me." The redneck watched the woman whip her gaze from him, staring out into the water. Daryl followed her gaze, eyes narrowed into mere slits, ears listening to any unusual sounds, anything out of the ordinary. "Listen, I reckon we get on back to the camp, jus' to safe-"

"I don't want to go just yet." She knew she was wrong for interrupting him, but this night, so peaceful and beautiful, was something she didn't want to miss. What she never saw another night like this? Carol would certainly regret it. She just wished Sophia was awake to see the stars straining to be seen through the dark gray clouds. Her eyes shifted slightly towards him again, looking him up and down. "What are you doing out here?"

Daryl switched his weight to the other foot, finally swinging his crossbow over his shoulder. "Came fer a swim, but I saw ya instead…though ya was a Walker…" Called it… "Why aren' ya in yer tent?" he asked.

His boots made the rocks crunch beneath them as he came towards her, plopping down on a spot beside her. The slight breeze in the air caught his scent, whisking it up Carol's nostrils. He smelled outdoorsy; pine maybe, with a mixture of sweat, the iron-like aroma of blood, and pure man. The woman was surprised that he didn't reek of bad body odor like her husband did on most occasions. She found herself liking the scent surprisingly and almost inched closer just to get another whiff of it. There was something oddly comforting about it…

His question: why wasn't she in her tent? "Just wanted to get away."

"Get away from tha' bastard of a man ya married. Heh, no surprise there."

"Please don't say that-"

"Like hell if I'm not. I've seen the bruises on yer arms." Daryl's tongue glided over his teeth, collecting saliva so he could spit it in the opposite direction. "Ev'ryone knows 'bout it, even Merle, but he jus' laughs. He can be a right cold asshole sometimes." He smirked, "Ever thought of hittin' him back?"

Carol gasped, but quickly settled back down. She _did _think about hitting back, but with one glance at her boney, frail hands, she immediately knew she'd never make an impact. Carol didn't really feel the urge to hit him when he laid his hands on her, but when he turned to her little girl with the intent to harm, she wished she could haul off and wail one on Ed. The older woman glanced at Daryl's hands; he'd probably done some damage to somebody's face before. They made her wring her smaller ones uncomfortably.

"Does he hit yer girl?"

Carol eyed him carefully, rubbing her hands against her tan shorts. Despite the chilly air, her palms got sweaty and her face became dewy all of a sudden. Ed's actions towards her daughter had always been an uncomfortable subject.

"Sometimes…"

Daryl narrowed his eyes even more, fingers curling into fists for some reason. "Yer little girl's strong, even if she doesn' show it on the outside much." The redneck shifted uncomfortably; almost like being comforting was awkward for him. Probably was, considering he was always away and when he was with the group, he was in his tent. "Puttin' up with tha' shit fer most of her life? Yeah, she's def'nitely tough."

Carol smiled softly, "Thank you. I'm sure she would appreciate you saying that."

Daryl snorted, "Funny thing is, here I am, forty-somethin' years old, and I have more in common with a little girl more than anybody else." A short chuckle escaped him. He caught Carol's puzzled stare. "My pa wasn' exactly father of the year either. I was at the end of his fist a far few times. Like yer kid, I pushed through it."

The mother watched the hunter stand up, not even bothering dusting his pants off. He gave one final, lingering look at the shimmering waters, staring intensely at how the moon reflected off it before saying, "Too damn cold out here fer a swim. Don' wan' to freeze my ass off…" Daryl looked down at her. "Wan' me ta take ya to yer tent?" He shrugged his shoulder, causing his crossbow to move. "Case there's Walkers?"

"No, I think I can manage. Thank you though."

And as he walked away, Carol had to laugh.

She would have never thought foul-mouthed redneck Daryl would be just like her quiet, well-mannered Sophia. Carol continued to laugh, eyes closed with tears falling down her cheeks. And she couldn't tell whether they were tears from laughter or tears from the sorrow she tried to hide from the world.

"Thank you…Daryl…"

…**\~/…**

A few days later, someone had volunteered her husband to help Daryl carry in a couple bags of deer meat he had finally managed to collect. Carol had tried to persuade the other survivors to allow her husband to rest, but they all shook their heads. Carol shrank back as Ed glared over in her direction, obviously upset about being forced to work, especially with a piece of white trash no less.

Carol watched from her ironing board as Daryl led the way into the woods, Ed grudgingly following. Lori, who was bringing another basket of clothes, noticed the other mother's worried glance.

"Is something wrong, Carol?" Lori asked.

The short-haired woman shook her head, quickly reverting back to her ironing mode. About ten minutes, she heard a rustling of branches, and saw Daryl emerge from the brush, two sacks slung over his shoulder. Another five and her husband came back as well, only his appearance was a bit off.

"Oh my God…" Carol gasped.

Ed's nose was set in an odd slant, blood pouring from his nostrils. Bottom lip was busted open and his right eye was turning a blackish-purple color, a severe-looking cut right next to the eye. It looked like something metal had slashed his skin, possibly a heavy metal crossbow that a certain someone possessed. Carol dropped her iron, running over to examine his injuries, but the man slapped her hands away, face contorted in twisted rage. He pushed past her, trudging towards their tent.

Carol shuffled back to her ironing board, trying to gulp down the lump in her throat. Lori had her lips stretched in a smirk, fist resting on her hip. "Well I'll be damned. Seems that Mr. Dixon did a number on your husband."

Carol turned her head slowly in the direction of Daryl's tent. He was hanging up meat on posts outside, hands all bloodied. She noticed how his knuckles were busted, crossbow covered in red at on the butt of the weapon. The redneck turned his head in her direction as well, sending her a smug smirk before turning his attention back to his work.

Lori was right, she'd be damned…

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><p><strong>So, how was it?<strong>


	2. Nonetheless A Smile

**Alright, you guys convinced me that I should continue with this. I was actually going to keep it a one-shot. And I'm thrilled that you guys loved the first chapter. I feel like Daryl and Carol would be really good friends and I honestly hope they DON'T become something more. Is that wrong? Because if they do in the series, I'll literally scream. Does anybody feel the same way or am I the only one? Anyways, I'll feel like this chapter isn't very good since I wrote it with no inspiration. And it's been awhile since I wrote a fighting scene so I hope it's good enough...**

**Well, off to study for my Algebra II and English final. Wish me luck! **

**Disclaimer:The Walking Dead is owned by Robert Kirkman.**

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><p><strong>It Was Nonetheless A Laugh<strong>

**...\~/…**

He was actually quite proud of the number he did on that walkin' lump of nothin'. When he had led Ed out in the woods, deep enough so that no one could hear Ed's soon-to-be grunts of pain, Daryl whipped right around, and smashed the butt of his crossbow into that asshole's face, a nasty-looking cut splitting open. Daryl had dropped his crossbow, finishing the work with his fists. The redneck knew that he broke the man's nose when he heard a sickening, yet satisfying crack and that he busted Ed's bottom lip open. But the one thing that made Daryl swell with pride was the swollen, black eye he had given that creep, the most noticeable injury he had. Everyone at the camp, especially the women, would whisper whenever Ed passed by, but no matter how the man tried to cover up the reminders, that black eye was still there for everyone to see.

Yes, Daryl was quite proud of his handiwork.

But right now, he had to push those thoughts to the back of his head, and focus on the task at hand. It was his job (even though the other campers never had say in it) to hunt for meals, meals that would last them for a least a week before they needed more. The survivors silently looked up to him when it came to food, no matter what it was, and for some reason that made the pit of his stomach feel like it was on fire.

His footing had to perfect, slowly coming around a tree that was between him and his prey. Crossbow titled up, ready to be brought down, and shot. A decent-sized buck was lingering a couple yards away from where he stood, lowering its head down to munch on whatever grass it could find. Daryl peered around another trunk that he hid himself behind, light blue eyes staring intensely at the animal he planned to take home for dinner. From the size of the deer and the number of survivors, it'd feed them for at least four days. He'd have to get some squirrel too to keep their food supply full for at least a two more days.

There was a fallen trunk about three yards from where he stood. Crouching low, he slowly treaded over to the trunk, ducking behind it when the deer's head shot up. Daryl's chest lifted and descended slightly, the man trying to keep his breathing labored. A deer's hearing was incredible; the slightest noise could trigger them, their nimble feet taking action. Daryl pushed himself off the ground a bit, looking over the log. The buck's backside was facing him now, head up and scanning its surroundings for any predators. Unbeknownst to the buck, he had a predator lurking in the shadows.

And unbeknownst to Daryl, he also had a predator sneaking behind him.

A snap of a twig and it was too late. Daryl barely turned to check from behind when an aluminum baseball bat collided into the side of his head. The sound of the thud that came from the attack was enough to send the deer running; he knew that for a fact. But right now, Daryl was trying to focus in on the attacker, but his vision was blurred. His head had a throbbing pain searing through to the core. The hunter knew it couldn't be a Walker since they were too dumb to even pick up a baseball bat. Daryl struggled to get up, barely on his hands and knees before he received another wallop against the head, sending him face first into the ground again.

"You think you can get away with beatin' me, you filthy…" The bat swung into his right shoulder. "Inbred…" Another collision between flesh and metal. "Son of a bitch!" Daryl's body ached with each time the bat met his flesh. Finally, his vision cleared enough to see Ed Peletier towering over him, aluminum bat raised behind his head, ready for another attack. When the bat came down, Daryl rolled over just enough so that the bat narrowly missed his side, thudding against the ground below them. Ed scowled, slowly raising his bat up.

"My turn, shithead!" Daryl hissed. He swept his foot across the ground, colliding with Ed's legs, sweeping the burly man clean off his feet. The hunter immediately retaliated by climbing atop the son of a bitch, straddling him. He grabbed the man's collar, bringing Ed's bruised face close to his bloodied one. "Yeah, I _thought_ I could get away with beatin' the shit out of you. Now, I know I shoulda killed ya."

Ed chuckled darkly, "And risk gettin' thrown out of the camp? Leavin' you to fend for yourself? Real smart, you dumbass redneck." Ed felt the man's hands shaking, probably from either adrenaline or anger, maybe even both. The father looked up into Daryl's eyes and now wished he hadn't. There was a fire in them, a fire that he sometimes saw in his wife's eyes just before he would smack her over onto the ground. Only this time, it wasn't Carol, it was Daryl, and this man wasn't someone to mess with. He was lucky enough to land a few hits on the man before the hunter came back at him.

"I don' care 'bout that fuckin' camp. What I _do _care 'bout is your daughter. That little girl's done nothin' to you and you have the balls enough to go off and hit her. Only a _sick_ _fuck_ would do somethin' like that."

"Sue me, I'm a sick fuck." Ed laughed.

Daryl's fist collided with Ed's jaw, a sickening crack ringing through the air. Ed grunted in pain, his own fists swinging around in search of something to hit. He successfully landed a punch on Daryl's cheek, knocking the man to the ground beside him. The burly "father" crawled on top of him, bashing his fist against the man's head before Daryl caught his fist, pinning it to the ground. Ed glared down at his handy work, loving how crimson blood spilled over the corners of the redneck's mouth, a busted top lip glimmering. The man's eye was a lovely shade of dark purple, brimming with black and blue, and his cheeks were red and swollen. Yes, Ed was proud of the work he was doing.

Before Ed could give the little bastard another bruise, Daryl sputtered something.

"Why…?"

"Why what?"

"Why would you do that to your little girl? Beatin' her up and givin' her bruises. Does it make you feel powerful? Huh? 'Cause if it does, jus' thought I'd let ya know that ev'ryone in the camp thinks you're a sick, spineless, no good, dirty rotten, lazy-ass bastard who's better off _dead _than _alive_."

Then, Daryl collected a wad of saliva in his mouth, and spewed it across the pudgy man's face, his grin showing off his blood-covered teeth. Ed scowled, clobbering the man's head a final time before something else stopped him.

"Ed! Hey, Ed! Where are you?" someone shouted, sounding a lot like Morales. Ed looked up, Daryl leaning his head back so that he could also see who was coming towards them. He watched as two men-Morales and Shane-approach the two, one of them holding a shotgun and the other grasping firmly on an axe, both ready to swing or shoot at anything that walked with a limp.

Ed gathered Daryl's collar in his hands, bringing the redneck's face close to his. "If you ever look towards me again, I'll make sure I hit you _so hard_, you won't wake up again." And that was that. Ed pushed Daryl to the ground, standing up shakily. The burly man glared down at the blonde, sneering unpleasantly. He collected a wad of spit in his mouth, hacking up something foul from the back of his throat, and spat it down on the hunter. Daryl collected enough to strength to swing his leg around, sweeping Ed's legs from under him. Daryl struggled to his feet and was about to pounce on the bastard when an axe stopped him. He looked over into the brown eyes of Morales, who was shaking his head. The hunter looked back at his prey and saw how Shane had his shotgun pointed at Ed, directly at his head.

"That's enough you two." Shane muttered, "We have enough problems, we don't need more."

**…\~/…**

When Carol's eyes laid upon her husband, retreating from the forest with new bruises bordering his face, she rushed over to check on him. It was always her initial reaction when she saw her husband in trouble or in pain, and the looks he was giving, so full of anger and pain, she felt…scared… She reached out to touch his shoulder, but he grabbed her wrist swiftly, jerking her towards him roughly.

"If you ever talk to that son of a bitch," His grip tightened. "I'll kill you."

Her husband pushed her away and Carol felt tear brim at the corners of her eyes.

She jumped when she saw felt a tough-skinned thumb slide across her cheekbone, wiping away whatever tears were falling. Carol's eyes shifted over to the comforting figure: Daryl. He looked just as horrible as Ed, with a busted top lip, swollen cheek, a gruesome-looking shiner, and a grotesque bruise forming on his right shoulder. And he had that little smile at his lips, his eyes squinting; something she noticed would happen whenever he smiled. Daryl took her face in both his large hands, thumbs brushing away more tears. This was so foreign to her; usually when she cried, she was slapped over and over again.

"Why you cryin'?" he asked.

She couldn't get the words out; they were lodged in the back of her throat, allowing the sobs to pass through first. All she could do was shake her head, crying pathetically. Carol looked up to see a tear running down Daryl's cheek, unbeknownst to him. The woman felt a small smile crack her lips.

"W-Why a-are you c-crying?"

Daryl frowned, "I ain't cryin'. It's hotter than nine hells out here," He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. "My eyes are sweating…"

And she laughed, a small laugh, but it was nonetheless a laugh.

And he liked her laugh.


	3. Juliet

**Juliet**

**...\~/...**

Daryl scowled when the foul stench of a rotting something hit him in the face, his face contorting into a look of disgust. He put his back against a dying maple and crouched, bringing his crossbow to the ready. Whatever was rotting was obviously being eaten, the squishing sounds of innards being ripped out and the smacking sounds of peeling lips filling his ears. Daryl peered around the curve of the tree, spotting two Walkers kneeling in front of a ripped open deer, shoving bloody guts and intestines into their greedy mouths. He stepped out, careful of any sticks lying around so he wouldn't snap them and gain their attention, and pulled the trigger of his crossbow. He watched as the bolt soared through the air, hitting one of the Walker's in the middle of the eyes, and he watched as the corpse fell to the ground. Its partner paused in eating and slowly looked over at fallen Walker, a piece of deer meat falling from its mouth. It wasn't two seconds later, and that Walker followed the same fate as its partner.

The hunter stood up, scanning the area for any other undead, and walked towards the dead deer. Daryl shook his head, fingers running through his hair. "Fucking Christ..." he spat, gazing down at the deer."There goes dinner _again_." Daryl fell to his knees, examining the deer for any salvageable parts, but the Walkers had gotten their grubby, infected hands all over the animal, leaving the creature inedible and tainted. After standing up, he kicked the deer's head out of frustration, grunting as he did so. "You're supposed to run from those bastards so I can kill ya later, you fucking-" Kick. "-useless-" Another kick. "-animal!"

Something snapped in the distance, and Daryl's crossbow was up, ready to be shot.

"Can I come down now?" a small voice asked.

The hunter looked up, his blue eyes settling on a small girl clutching the tree's trunk, sitting in the branches. That little girl was none other than Sophia, Carol's daughter. Despite her mousey appearance and gangly physique, Daryl reminded himself of the shit she was put through all her life. He rubbed his cheek tenderly, remembering her gorilla of a father landing a hit there, but for every hit Ed landed on him, Sophia had probably endured ten times as much. Daryl's lips set in a firm line when he noticed the fading bruise on Sophia's left shoulder when her shirt collar drooped to the side. For some reason, the scars on his back ached all of a sudden, causing him to shake his head in order to rid any memories coming through.

"What're you doin' up there?" he asked, his voice low.

"Hiding," she replied, her voice just as low, but soft.

"From Walkers?"

Her response caused his stomach to churn.

"From my daddy."

His next question sat on his tongue and refused to come out. The memories that he had tried to suppress were slowly coming back to life: the crack of his dad's belt on his back, the blood that would wash away in the shower after he'd taken a beating, the times when he wanted to take his dad's revolver and shoot a round right into his dad's head. Daryl had to wonder if Sophia ever had those thoughts or maybe wishing that her dad would be bitten and turn into one of those walking corpses. A fate worse than death, everyone says; Ed Peletier had definitely deserved it. Seeing Sophia up in the tree, he knew that Carol was most likely in panic, searching for her missing daughter with thoughts of Walkers or Ed getting to her.

"C'mon, I'll help you get down," Daryl said, leaning his crossbow against the trunk, reaching up to grab Sophia's stretched out hand. The girl slowly lowered herself from the branch, Daryl's large hands surrounding her  
>waist so he could set her on the ground. As he was setting her down, he saw the bruise again, black and edged with red and purple. And as his blue gaze met her brown one, he knew that she didn't deserve the abuse, just as he didn't deserve his dad's fists and belt throughout his childhood. Sophia bent down to pick up her doll, the toy looking worse for wear.<p>

Sophia looked back at the gutted deer, face expressionless. "Does that mean we won't be eating tonight?" she asked.

"Nah, I'll get somethin'. Don't worry," he said, picking up his crossbow. He was determined to get a deer and some squirrel for everyone. That was his one and only job, and he didn't want to fail it. "C'mon, kid, we gotta get you back to the camp. Your mom's prob'ly worried sick." Daryl went to set his hand on her shoulder, but the small girl flinched, shrugging her shoulder away. Then it dawned on him that he almost put his hand on her bruised shoulder, but maybe that wasn't the only reason. She was probably afraid of men now, thanks to her dad. He remembered when he used to flinch too, even at his brother's touch, but Merle had taught him quickly to never be afraid of anything, especially their old man.

"No!" she cried, shuffling away. "I...I mean..." Her head hung, ashamed of raising her voice to an adult. "I just..."

"I'm not gonna hurt you," Daryl reassured.

"I know," Sophia said weakly. "I just don't want to go back to my...daddy."

"The woods are dangerous, kid." Daryl jutted a thumb over his shoulder towards the forest. "Lions, tigers, bears; you know, all that...scary stuff."

"And Walkers," Sophia added.

"Yeah, those too."

"And spiders!"

Daryl quirked a smile, remembering how Merle used to have a "distaste" (Merle liked to call it) for spiders when they were kids. But now, since time and pain had made both Merle and Daryl older, small things like spiders didn't bother them. Sophia dusted off her doll, her lips puckering when dirt and dust flew off her toy. Daryl had to wonder just what kind of person Sophia really was: was she meek and quiet, the person that her father forced her to be, or did she have some kind of boldness in her that no one knew about? He shook his head, pointing towards the direction of the camp. "C'mon, kid, I have to take you back. I'm tryin' to hunt and you'll prob'ly scare the game off. Let's go." And he started for the camp, but something stopped him.

Sophia didn't move from her spot.

"Let's go!" Daryl barked, his voice coming out harsh.

The girl shook her head.

"C'mon, we have to-"

"I don't want him to...touch me again."

Daryl's eyes got a bit wider; visions of Ed Peletier dragging his vulnerable daughter into their tent clouded his mind. He quickly shook away the images, looking over at the girl. Her face was emotionless, lips turned into a natural frown, eyes showing all the sadness and pain that she was feeling. He never knew he'd have so much in common with a little, twelve year-old girl; in so many ways Sophia reminded him of himself when he was her age. He remembered how his mind used to play games with him, telling him that he was a problem child, that his dad was a sensible man who didn't do things without a reason, and that he was the reason his dad was a drunken, drug-abusing monster. At least Sophia had her mom, something that he didn't have growing up, but even then, Carol was just as defenseless and vulnerable as Sophia.

"Touch you...?"

He was scared of her answer. No...he was _terrified _of it.

All Sophia did was look down at herself, squeezing her thighs together, and that was a good enough answer.

"Does your mom know?" he asked softly.

Sophia diverted her eyes from his, shifting nervously. "I think she does."

"Does she...do anything about it?"

A simple shake of the head from the girl made his gut flip over and over until he felt like he was going to puke. Daryl turned away, his hand covering his mouth. God, he felt sick. This shouldn't have affected him like this. Sophia wasn't his kid, wasn't his to worry about, so he didn't have to feel this bad for her. But the thought of Carol turning a blind eye just because she couldn't do anything about it or make it worse if she did try and fight Ed disturbed him. Questions like how far Ed had gone plagued his mind now, wishing they wouldn't. Those questions, mixed with memories of his childhood, was almost too much for him.

"Are you okay?" Sophia asked, voice barely a whisper.

"Yeah," Daryl choked out, "I'm fine."

"Can I...come with you?" she asked hesitantly.

Daryl clutched at his crossbow, forcing himself to answer.

"Yeah...yeah, you can," he said with a nod of his head. "But you have to be careful, and be_ quiet_."

"If any Walkers come around, I'll climb a tree, and let you take care of them." Sophia cracked a small smile when she said that.

Daryl snorted. "Ain't that just sweet of ya."

**...\~/...**

He could remember his eighteenth birthday, January 6th to be exact, when his Horton Scout HD 125 was introduced in his life. Merle had saved up enough money from doing odd jobs around their hometown to buy the crossbow for him. That day, Daryl had walked into the kitchen, his blue eyes resting on the weapon wrapped in a green ribbon. Merle had been leaning the doorway leading outside, the screen door propped open with one of their dad's old boots so air could cool the shack down. When Daryl had looked up at his older brother, Merle had been wearing that signature smirk of his, looking proud of his handiwork.

_"Thought maybe it was time for my sweet baby brother to get his first big boy toy."_

Daryl crouched low behind a fallen tree trunk, Sophia kneeling next to him, peering at both him and the deer up ahead. The hunter positioned his crossbow just right, looking through the scope to align the weapon. He remembered when Merle had nodded towards the woods, telling Daryl that it was time he hunted like a true man, and taught him how to use the crossbow. He remembered the first deer he ever shot, a doe that had been grazing out in an open field. Merle had told him three things: be quiet, be patient, and be prepared for disappointment. Hunting was a tricky sport, Merle said, and every hunter had to be prepared to come home empty-handed.

He pulled the trigger, and the crossbow bolt went straight through the buck's neck, the animal crumbling to the ground.

"You got it!" Sophia exclaimed quietly, staring at the dead deer with amazement. He was surprised that she didn't wince, didn't feel bad for the animal he just killed. The girl turned to him, eyes wide and a smile at her lips. "Can I hold it?" she asked, pointing towards the crossbow. Daryl looked between Sophia and his bow, frowning. They stood up, the hunter contemplating about giving her the bow. Sophia's words about her dad touching her invaded his mind, telling him that Sophia had probably been denied so many things in her life that him saying no to her wouldn't really affect her. Daryl held out the weapon, watching as Sophia reached for it slowly.

"Be careful with her," Daryl said, letting his hands slip from the crossbow when he made sure she had a good hold on it. "She's just as old as I am."

Sophia's arms slightly fell from the full weight of the crossbow, and Daryl went to catch it, but Sophia managed to hold it up, her skinny arms wobbling. She whipped it around, looking down the scope, one eye closed. He felt the corner of his lips lift, the sight before him amusing.

"It's a girl?" she questioned, using all her strength to give the crossbow back.

"I guess..." Daryl said unsurely. "Men always call their valuables 'girl'."

"Why?"

"I don't know." He shrugged. "Instinct?"

"What's her name?" Sophia's eyes were wide as she questioned him.

Daryl shrugged again, and said, "I don't know. She doesn' have one, I guess."

"Juliet."

"Juliet?" He lifted his crossbow, his eyes scanning over it. Despite the age of the weapon, it looked almost new since he'd taken such great care of it. "It does sort of look like a Juliet, doesn' it?"

Sophia nodded. She then pointed at the deer. "We have to get dinner, don't we?"

"Yeah, yeah we do."

**...\~/...**

"My mom talks about you."

"Good things, I hope."

"She said you beat up my daddy twice."

"Do you hate me for it?"

Pause.

"Can you teach me how to beat him up?"

Daryl stopped, Sophia taking a few steps before stopping as well. The hunter had his crossbow slung across his back, clutching a bag of meat in one of his hands. His face was straight, leaving him hard to read. Sophia clutched her doll to her chest as her brown eyes bore into his blue ones. Maybe her question had caught him off guard? Probably since shock was beginning to form on his face.

"I don't think your mom would appreciate that," Daryl said finally, shaking his head.

"Oh..." Sophia looked away, suddenly shy. "I just thought maybe I'd finally be able to save my mom."

Daryl stiffened, the scars on his back beginning to ache again. There had been a time when Merle was at home, fresh from juvenile detention, and it had been his mission to teach his little brother how to defend himself. Merle taught the tricks of the trade, telling him to guard his face and head at all times because a punch to the head could send you down in a heartbeat. He taught him to always angle his legs in a certain way so that his groin wasn't exposed, a spot that attackers always went for when the opportunity arose. And Merle told him to always breathe, _always_. Adrenaline, though the rush was something pleasant, was bad for you, and it left your mind foggy. Protect the head and groin and always breathe; Daryl had remembered those rules well when a group of boys had surrounded him one time at his high school.

"I just thought-"

Sophia jumped when a _thwhipping_ sound soared past her ear, a thumping sound following shortly after. She looked over, seeing a large hunting knife stuck in a tree not too far from her. She turned towards Daryl, a smug look on his face. Knife-throwing had been something he taught himself, impressing Merle when he finally showed him the skill. The hunter walked past her, grabbing the knife, pulling it out the trunk with one hard tug. He leaned "Juliet" against a tree, setting the bag of raw venison by it.

"Hold this," he instructed, flipping the knife and catching the blade, presenting the handle to the girl. "I'll teach ya how to throw knives."

Sophia's face lit up, a grin breaking out across her face. "Really?"

"Yep." He stood behind her, pointing towards a tree that was closer to them. "Now, I need you to hold the blade in your hand- no, not like that. You'll end up cutting your hand off doing that. Here...yeah, just like that." Then, he stood beside her after moving her hand around the knife in the right position. "Now, bend your arm like this," he said, bending his arm back in an acute angle, hand past his left ear. "And send your hand forward, and flick the knife."

"Flick it?"

"Well, flicking it is the best way to describe it."

And he watched as Sophia did exactly as he told her, but her throwing was weak, and the knife flipped once and bounced off the handle. The girl's shoulders slumped in disappointment, but Daryl jabbing her in the shoulder caught her attention.

"I hate to admit it, but you did better than I did when I started. I threw it straight through my boot my first time."

"Straight through your boot?" Sophia repeated in awe, her eyes widening.

"Yeah, but don't tell anyone that, _especially Merle_. He'd never let me forget."

That's when she asked, "Is your brother nice?"

Daryl thought for a moment before answering, "He _can _be. He's just rough around the edges."

"My daddy said he's a wife-beater." What she said was out of innocence and there was no ill-will present, but her comment still irked him.

"My _brother _is _nothing _like that piece of shit scumbag you have for a dad," he hissed. His tone made her wince, but he overlooked it. "Merle may be a bit screwed up in the head because of the drugs, but he's _not _a wife-beater and he would _never _lay a hand on a kid, _ever_. We were abused as kids too, and if Merle ever had kids, I _know _he wouldn't want to put his kid through that kind of hell." He could remember a time when some douchebag had been bragging about beating up his kid when he and his brother went in for a drink at Merle's favorite bar. When the story reached Merle, Daryl watched as his brother hauled the child abuser off his stool by the collar, Merle breathing deeply, just as he had taught Daryl to do in stressful situations.

_"You better get out of my bar, big boy, before I make you wish you'd never been born._" Merle had said, in that low, raspy voice of his. _"I've met your boy before, and he deserves a better father than some sick, twisted, scumbag son of a bitch such as yourself."_

Merle had been banned from that bar.

"So, he's nice?" Sophia asked.

"When he's sober," Daryl said. "Do you want to throw the knife again?"

Before she could answer, a panicked woman's voice called out. "Sophia? Sophia! Sophia, baby!" It was Carol, staggering through the woods towards them. A group of four was hurrying after her, two of them armed with guns and the other two baring melee weapons. Carol fell to her knees in front of Sophia, wrapping her frail arms around her daughter, sobbing uncontrollably. Shane and Morales scanned the area for any Walkers, panting from running such a long distance. Daryl tensed when he saw Ed standing there with a look of disgust on his face, Daryl bringing up his crossbow, ready to attack the bastard if he tried to hurt the woman and her child.

"Well, well, well," someone said beside him. Daryl looked over to see Merle standing there, holding a shotgun. "Seems like my baby brother is a hero today. Good job, Darlina." Merle mocked.

The Dixon Brothers watched as Carol stood up shakily, curling an arm around Sophia, guiding her in the direction of the camp. Shane and Morales followed them, constantly on the guard for any Walkers or other predators. The last person to leave was Ed, who glared at Daryl in contempt. And that's when he opened his big, fat mouth.

"Have fun with my little girl, Dixon? She's a real treat, isn't she?"

The thought of Ed touching that little girl made Daryl's skin crawl.

Merle noticed his younger brother's discomfort, eyes flicking back towards Ed.

"Real fun to _play _with," Ed taunted, sneering.

"Just go, dickhead!" Daryl shouted.

Ed smirked before turning and leaving, the Dixon Brothers being left behind.

"He abuses her, you know," Daryl finally said to Merle, whose eyes narrowed as he watched Ed walk towards the camp. "He touches her."

"The girl?"

"Yeah."

There was a moment of silence between the two before Merle tilted his head, gave a smirk, and said, "You know, I always felt that he was missin' somethin'." And he snatched Daryl's crossbow out of his hands, stretched it out in front of him, and shot a bolt straight into Ed's ass. The abuser let out a loud, pained yell, collapsing to the ground, earning the attention of the four ahead of him. Merle shoved "Juliet" back into Daryl's arms before marching towards Ed. Daryl watched as his brother got down on one knee, laughing at the sight the tears that streamed down Ed's face. Carol was howling, Morales trying his best to calm her down so as not to attract the undead.

"Dixon, what the hell are you doing?!" Shane yelled, stomping towards the two men.

Merle looked up at the ex-sheriff deputy. "Don' he look so nice with a bolt in his fat ass?" he questioned, slowly looking down at a cringing Ed. Merle tilted his head to the other side, a grin stretching across his face. Merle shushed the crying man gently when he stroked Ed's face with two fingers. "Don't worry, Eddie boy, Uncle Merle will take good care of you." Shane went to grab Merle's wrist, but the ex-Marine pointed his shotgun at the man, scolding him softly. "Now, now, Sheriff, don' get fussy."

"Let him go, Dixon. You've caused enough trouble," Shane said.

"Oh, but I was only goin' to help him," Merle replied, feigning an innocent look as he pulled the bolt out of Ed's ass. He twirled it between his fingers a few times before embedding the bolt into Ed's other cheek, causing the pudgy man to let out a yell. "Shush now, _sweetie_, we wouldn't want to attract any Walkers, now would we?"

"C'mon, Merle," Daryl said, nudging his brother on the shoulder with his crossbow. "You can play with him later."

Merle looked up at Daryl, faking disappointment. "You ruin the fun, little brother. But before I go-" Merle grabbed Ed by the man's scruffy hair, lifting his head up. "-I just wanted to say that I think men that beat their children are nothin' more than _sick fucks _that need to be strung up and set on fire." And with that, Merle shoved Ed's face in the dirt, and stood up. He gave a swift kick to Ed's head, and walked away, Daryl following him. When they reached Carol and Sophia, Merle paused, looking down at the girl.

Before he could walk away though, Sophia let out a small, "So, you _are _nice."

Merle's face was straight, but then a small smile cracked at his lips. "Nicer than that sorry fuck you have for a dad." And he walked away towards the direction of the camp, a hop in his step that he always got when he felt accomplished about something.

Daryl gave a weeping Carol a lingering look before, he too, walked away.

"Take care of Juliet for me!" Sophia called out.

And Daryl Dixon silently promised he would, and months later, even after he would set a Cherokee Rose on her grave, he would still keep his promise.

And even after, when he would receive his new crossbow, he would still have Juliet, and he would call his new one "Sophia".

* * *

><p><strong>So...it's been about a year since I've updated this...sorry. : Well, anyways, I know this is basically a Daryl/Sophia-centric chapter, but it was in my mind and I wanted to write it and post it for you all to read. And I just _had _to add Merle in there, so this chapter can be set before some of the Atlanta survivors go back to the city. I hope you enjoyed this, and if you have anything you want me to write about, go ahead and tell me. I'm hoping sometime I'll post a story about the Dixon Brothers, but we'll just have to wait and see!**

**Author's Note- Fin**


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